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Do you remember that great Woody Allen gag about how life is a package of pointless banality all wrapped up in arbitrary pain and suffering.

“And it’s so short, as well.”

The joke (if that’s what it is rather than a skewed reality of the depressive) tidily sums up my position. I deplore that I am getting older, while at the same time I’m annoyed that life seems to have so little point to it.

Yet somewhere in the dense wood of life there are branches of hope. For a start, I can always opt for utter mindlessness in front of a video with my wife and a box of scorched almonds — for those unwise in the ways of NZ chocolate, scorched almonds are nuts covered in chocolate.

And then my children. Angels they are not, but is it all worth the effort to see their shining faces in the mornings as they hoot and laugh in front of some game they’ve discovered? Of course it is.

After that, things get a bit hazy. But if you are looking at this page, and you’ve held on long enough to get down to this paragraph, you might know I write a few bits and bobs. You also might know this is my author website.